


ever so far, ever so elusive

by KicktheMatt



Category: Dragalia Lost (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Damn it fritz stop being so insecure, Fluff and Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-24 08:16:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17700749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KicktheMatt/pseuds/KicktheMatt
Summary: Fritz doesn't deserve the good he has been given. He doesn't deserve Vixel.warning: kinda really angsty with a good ending, I promise.





	ever so far, ever so elusive

He was ever so far, ever so elusive. Vixel was like water, cupped in Fritz’s hand, draining into a bucket where Fritz continued to try to _hold, hold him…_

Fritz didn’t feel like he had the right to be anywhere near someone as beautiful as Vixel. He felt like he was supposed to keep his commoner eyes away from him, keep his own corruption away from Vixel’s perfection. Fritz was tainted. Vixel was pure.

Fritz had an awful past, Vixel had some hiccups during his time. Vixel was everything Fritz wished he could have. The conductor’s smile, his eyes, his sweet laugh, his sincerity and his love, all things that Fritz wished he could say was his. He wished he could reach out, grasp Vixel’s soft hands with his own worn, tell him how much Vixel means to him, and have that same affection given back to him.

It couldn’t happen, though. Good things can’t happen to bad people.

So he kept his feelings under wraps, under the heaviest surveillance and the tightest lock and key. He acted how he usually did, ever the performer, never showing his true face, his true feelings. A famous playwright once said the world’s a stage, and to that Fritz says amen. It allowed him to go through an act of his life, himself an actor, his true self never shining through for a moment. _The Pining Thief and the Perfect Musician: A Tragedy_ , his life’s show should be called. 

Despite telling himself that he doesn’t deserve Vixel’s attention, Fritz goes to him anyway.

_Friends_ , as people would call them. A couple of friends. Some performers, bonding over their shared love for the stage. Best friends, in some people’s opinion.

None have a clue. None have a clue of how bad Fritz wants to have Vixel in his arms, how bad he wants to kiss the musician when he smiles, how bad he wants to whisper affections under warm covers on chilly nights, how bad he wanted to be _Vixel’s_. 

Alas, he keeps his feelings pushed far, far away from him, especially so when he is around the ice-eyed conductor.

_God, how can ice hold this much warmth?_

When Vixel looks into Fritz’s eyes, he can feel the amount of warmth and passion those eyes hold. He has to will himself to look away. He always has to be the one to look away. He has to look away when Vixel plays the piano and Fritz is around, when he and Vixel are alone in the Halidom courtyard, Vixel reading and Fritz polishing his knives. He looks at his red, burning hands, then looks at soft, beautiful Vixel. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this to anyone so beautiful.

It was a quiet night. The moon was high, there was minimal noise so deep into the night, if not from wind in the leaves and the scattering of nocturnal animals among the brush. It was a rough night for Fritz, despite the peace around him.

His hands burned. He was polishing his knives again. His head swirled with emotions; thoughts of fear, of love, of adoration, of disgust at himself and how he could let himself pine the way he does.

Fritz tensed as he heard footsteps behind him. He continued to act as if he were cleaning his knives, listening to the footsteps and they grew closer. He readied his knife, ready to strike the intruder behind him. 

Suddenly, a voice. “Fritz?”

_God, that voice could make him melt._

Fritz turned quickly, surprised. “Oh, hey, Vixel..”

“Why are you out so late?” The conductor asked, taking more steps towards Fritz. He was dressed down considerably from his usual wear, in a white button-up and black pants.

Fritz shrugged. “I’m not sure. Couldn’t sleep, too much thinkin’.”

Vixel eventually sat beside Fritz, looking down at his hands and the knives in the bright moonlight. “Fritz, how long have you been out here?”

Another shrug. “A couple hours?”

“If something is troubling you, you need not hesitate to seek me.”

“I know…” Fritz paused. “This just isn’t really something I can talk about with anybody.”

Vixel turned his head towards Fritz, resting his head on his hand, propped up by his knee. “Well, why not?”

The circus performer set down the rag and the blade. “It’s a lot. I just...god, I shouldn’t be telling you.”

“Telling me what? I’m concerned for you, Fritz.”

“Why are you? There’s no reason. There’s no reason to be concerned for me, about me, or anything that. It’s a waste of energy.”

There was silence between the two men. 

Fritz sighed. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t of snapped.”

“I just want to help you, it is incredibly distressing to see you so upset. You have a tendency to bottle your emotions up, and I want you do know that there is no shame in any of what you’re feeling.”

_Oh, but there is. You don’t know anything about me, Vixel. If you knew, I’d lose you for sure._

Fritz couldn’t tell if the polish fumes were getting to him, or if he were actually beginning to cry.

_God, he’s right there. I could say it right now._

“Vixel, I…” Fritz’s mouth gaped like a dumb fish. “I am not the man you think I am.”

“Preposterous. Whatever do you mean?”

Fritz shook his head. “I’m awful,” His voice cracked with pre-tears wetness. “Everything about me is. I’m going to tell you something, and you have full right to walk away and decide to never speak to me again.”

The conductor shifted so he was facing Fritz. His eyes, god his eyes, were laced with the utmost concern, his face the very epitome of tender worry. “Go on,” he said, warily. 

“I was a thief, for a very, _very_ long time. I stole from everyone. I had to, to survive. My skills with a knife? All from that. I’ve hurt so many people, Vixel. I’ve _killed_ so many people. I’m a god-awful cat. I’m undeserving of any sort of good shown to me, however that may be.

“Something has been happening lately, though, I’ve been around something good and it’s ruining me. I feel guilty for being alive. Someone else deserves this goodness, not me. I deserve a nice room six feet under, if I’m being honest. There’s no reason for me to be alive. I shouldn’t be able to do what I do every day. There was a knife that should’ve killed me, but I threw first. I just...I don’t deserve any of the good I’ve been shown.”

Fritz was staring at his hands, cracked and red, still stinging from the polish. “So there you go, Vixel. That’s what’s on my mind. Do you hate me?”

“No, actually,” Vixel began. “I don’t hate you. You’re not your past, Fritz. If people were merely made up of only what they have done, there would be no present to enjoy, nor would there ever be a future.”

“What are you on about?”

“You’re not your past, Fritz. Who you were years ago equates to nothing you are now. You’re in a new movement of your life, now. In the first movement, maybe you didn’t deserve any good, but you’ve moved on and now you do. Whatever good you’re experiencing, whatever or whoever that may be, you deserve them, Fritz. You deserve all forms of happiness.”

Fritz turned towards Vixel, who had just ducked his face into his hand, wiping some stray tears from his eyes. 

“Vixel…” Fritz began, tears running down his own face. He reached forward, then stopping before he could touch Vixel’s cheek to wipe away his tears. He pulled his hand back towards his own chest. “Why are you crying?”

“For you. For your goodness. I’m happy for you, and upset at myself.”

“Wha-”

“I know I’m not that good that you’ve been distressed over, and it’s alright. I just want you to know that you deserve whatever good you have found.”

Fritz sat in silence, tears still streaming down his cheeks. 

Vixel, his good, sat and looked over at him. His good, his goodness, was nearly sobbing in front of him, yet Fritz continued to prevent himself from reaching out, to grab Vixel’s face and tell him exactly what he felt…

_Oh, damn it all._

“Vixel, you are the good.”

The conductor’s eyes went wide. He didn’t understand what Fritz meant at first, until it clicked in his head. “Fritz..”

“God, I...I never wanted to--”

“Fritz, dear Ilia, Fritz,” Vixel said, reaching forward and wrapping his arms around Fritz’s neck, pulling him into a tight embrace, where Vixel buried his head in Fritz’s shoulder and held him close. It was then, he understood. All that was blinding Fritz from seeing was himself.

The winds still blew through the leaves, the animals still scurried in the brush. The moon remained high in the sky. Instead of Fritz’s hands holding a dagger, he instead held the man who was ever elusive like water, now tangible in his arms.


End file.
